


fit the crown to my head (but i was only a kid)

by littlesnowpea



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Cinderella Elements, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 18:11:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7651300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesnowpea/pseuds/littlesnowpea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"First of all, you can't forbid me to do anything," Patrick says, narrowing his eyes. "I won't listen, I promise. Second of all you can't forbid me to do anything. No one can. You could try, but I wouldn't recommend it. It'll be frustrating."</p><p>Peter is staring at him incredulously, a smile twitching at his lips. </p><p>"Who are you?" he asks finally, sounding amazed. "And where have you been? Palace life would be a lot more bearable if everyone treated me like that."</p>
            </blockquote>





	fit the crown to my head (but i was only a kid)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunflashes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflashes/gifts).



> GUESS WHO'S BACK (BACK AGAIN)
> 
> by popular demand, i have decided to reupload this fic for the masses, even though it may take away revenue from my published version. (i mean....if you WANNA donate to my paypal....i wouldn't be MAD.....)
> 
> i live to serve you guys and i just want y'all to be happy. reviews and kudos are all i survive on so please feed me. 
> 
> shane's treatment of brendon is 100% child abuse, and the fic also contains implied sexual assault. 
> 
> if anyone can guess what fairy tale i was gonna do before this one, you get a sneak peak of my latest fic (it's part of my vampire au...)
> 
> i love you all, muah. enjoy!

Patrick is running. This isn't even a rare occurrence, which is a fucking shame because Patrick hates running. It involves getting hot. And sweaty. Neither of which is a good combination for him, and besides, it's not even like he asked to be running right now. He's running because Ryan fucked up the plan and thus exposed them all to the fraud.

Patrick makes a mental note to be more vocal about the plans next time. Being vocal wouldn’t necessarily work to change anything, but still. It’s a nice thought.

He's pretty sure Brendon is still back there, probably cornered, but he's not worried. Brendon has big brown eyes and pouty lips and there is absolutely no one who would think he was guilty of anything. That's probably why Shane chose him out of the group home in the first place, let alone involve him in their _heists_. 

Patrick hates living in this family. Not just because of the running and not even because Shane makes them participate in the grand schemes he gets into his head to steal from the rich (Patrick's not a fucking saint, he's the first to admit that usually he is totally behind the plan of stealing money from greedy assholes who don't deserve it), but because this family plays favorites and has no problems shoving around people to get what they want. 

Like just now. 

The plan went ass up, which Patrick's not even that torn up about considering how _kind_ the CEO's wife is, but Shane had brought his cousin Ryan in on the plan and Ryan can't lie for shit. He's terrible at talking his way out of a situation but really good at pointing the finger at other people.

Guess who he pointed the finger at?

Hence Patrick _running_.

He's sweating through his cardigan and panting, glasses fogging up, but he doesn't dare stop running. He doesn't have Brendon's puppy dog eyes to get him through.

\--

"Shane, what the _hell_ ," Andy bitches, and Patrick wholeheartedly agrees. Or will, once he can breathe again.

"Shut the fuck up Andy, shit happens," Shane answers flippantly. "We gotta move out."

"Yeah, thanks to Ryan," Brendon mutters, and yelps as Shane backhands him. 

"You can shut the fuck up or I'll drop you right back at the home I rescued you from," Shane threatens, and Brendon glowers at him, but stays silent. Shane's not great, but the group home Brendon was in before is worse, and Patrick knows Brendon would do anything to stay away from it.

Still. "Rescued" is a bit of a strong word.

"Are we still going to hit up Illinois?" Patrick asks primly. "Or are we set back because of Ryan?"

"I can dump you, too," Shane spits. Patrick smirks.

"Try it," he invites. "I can survive just fine on my own. Or, I can turn you in and be immune from prosecution."

"You're such a bitch, Patrick," Ryan sneers. Patrick blows him a kiss.

"To answer your question, _yes_ , we're still going to do the big hit," Shane snaps loudly. "And it will succeed and it'll be our biggest pull yet."

"I hope the plan is better for this one," Andy mutters. "Stealing from royalty is a bit of a leap from stealing from a CEO."

"The plan is excellent, thanks for your concern," Shane informs him. "We're going to use the California plan."

Patrick and Andy groan in unison. Brendon looks confused.

"Shane, the California plan _didn't work_ , and Patrick almost got convicted," Andy protests. "And I can't play the lead in it anyway, the Wentzes saw me."

"No, the sister saw you and she's Vancouver's Princess now so it doesn't matter," Shane corrects. "And you're not going to play the lead, so chill."

"Patrick still almost got _convicted_ ," Andy emphasizes. Shane rolls his eyes.

"But he _didn't_ ," Shane says flippantly. Patrick gives him the finger.

"Thanks," he says sarcastically. Shane scowls.

"Uh, okay, cool and all, but what is the California plan?" Brendon pipes up, and Shane glances over.

"Oh, right, we hadn't picked you up yet," he realizes. "We tried a heist in California."

"I figured that part out, thanks," Brendon replies snidely. "I meant what happened?"

"Well, the whole point was that Andy was supposed to seduce this Congressman's son so that we could influence his vote," Patrick explains. "We wanted him to raise taxes on the rich. It was totally going to work, except we didn't know that the Congressman's son wasn't out to his dad yet."

"And we also didn't know how fucking homophobic the Congressman was," Andy adds. "Well. We know now."

Patrick snorts.

"But how did you almost get convicted?" Brendon asks. "I mean, convicted of what?"

"I was the one talking to him about the vote," Patrick says. "I lied, told him I was nineteen. He found out I was fifteen. Tried to get me convicted as an adult for 'deception of an elected official.'"

"None of that matters and this one will work," Shane says dismissively. "We have an in. The Prince's last relationship fell apart and they're doing damage control because he's already almost twenty-one. The boyfriend fell in love with someone else and left. He's already been painted as a deceitful bitch, that's fine. They're looking for a nice, clean looking boy for the Prince, especially since he's been a handful since the breakup."

"I definitely won't work then," Andy mutters, and Brendon chokes on a laugh.

"Is the Prince a fan of this?" Patrick asks, ignoring Brendon's coughs. Something is tugging at the back of his mind. Shane laughs loudly.

"No, but who cares?" he snorts. "He has to listen to his parents until he's married. I figure we get in there, get him married, and either cut a deal with him or just run. Spencer's gotten us on all of the lists the King and Queen of Illinois have, so it's down to our skills."

"I believe in all out our skills except one," Patrick says darkly, and Ryan glowers. 

"You better start believing in my skills," he informs Patrick haughtily. "Because I am the main role."

"Are you fucking _joking?_ " Patrick demands at the same time Andy groans.

"This will _fail_ ," Andy complains, and Shane slaps Patrick and throws and empty can of soda at Andy's head.

"Both of you, shut up," he orders. "You're both background. You both do what I say. Andy, you're twenty-one. You're the doting older brother. Patrick, you will shut your mouth the entire time or I swear to God you will regret it. Brendon is the adorable little brother who will also shut the fuck up unless he wants to go back to the home."

They're all silent as Shane surveys them. Patrick hopes his complete and total fury shows all over his face.

"Good," Shane smirks, and slaps Patrick again. "That's just a reminder. All of you, get your shit together, we're going to Chicago. The Queen has invited us to stay."

\--

Patrick really hates Shane. Has always hated Shane. He's hated Shane since he took Patrick from an orphanage at twelve with a resigned "you'll do". 

It's not that Patrick would rather be at the overcrowded orphanage, it's just that he wishes he'd had a chance at a normal life, instead of being forced to help Shane with his various thefts and hits and other illegal activities. 

He wishes his parents were alive, he wishes he could have at least stayed with his biological siblings instead of torn away and sent to Nashville. He wishes that Shane would never have seen Brendon, because yes, Brendon was mistreated horribly at the group home but he's mistreated horribly here too—by Shane, at least. 

He wishes Andy wasn't so obligated to stay, to keep an eye on Patrick and Brendon.

He wishes this crime family never happened. 

He _doesn't_ wish he never met Andy and Brendon. Those two are his family.

He just wishes they'd met differently.

\--

Spencer isn't in their family. He has his own. He's just forced into helping Shane for a year, under the guise of "studying abroad," because Shane paid off Spencer's father's debt so that Spencer's family could continue on with their lives.

Patrick likes Spencer, though. It takes guts for a sixteen-year-old kid to approach a known criminal and ask for help—and agree to the stipulations that the help comes with. It takes guts and true heart and Patrick can see why Brendon's gone stupid over him. 

Spencer acts like Shane's point man. He's organized and excellent at talking his way in and out of situations and honestly, if he weren’t so inherently honest, he'd make a really good criminal.

Spencer does the important part. He gets them in. 

"When Spencer comes to give us the invitation," Shane begins in a low voice. "The only words you may say are 'thank you, sir.' Am I clear?"

"Yes," Brendon mutters insolently and hisses in pain as Shane yanks on his earlobe.

"I mean it, you little brat," Shane spits. "You're not allowed to be with him."

"I'm not," Brendon protests, but Shane cuts him off.

"I see the look in your eyes, I see the way he hits on you, I'm not dumb," Shane hisses. "I am your guardian whether you like it or not. You're not allowed to date a sixteen-year-old."

"I'm fifteen," Brendon snaps. "And you're _not_ my guardian."

"I don't fucking care how old you are," Shane yanks Brendon's hair. "And legally, yes I am. Do what I say, or you will regret it."

Brendon is silent and Shane takes that as assent.

"Good," he smirks. "See? They do learn."

Patrick kind of wants to punch him.

The real reason, of course, that he won't let Brendon be with Spencer is because he doesn't want to give Brendon any sort of escape. Brendon's too valuable for Shane to lose, and when Spencer is allowed to go home, he would probably bring Brendon with him.

Shane is an _asshole_.

"Shane," it's Spencer's voice, and Patrick cuts his gaze to Brendon in time to catch his lower lip tremble. "Here. It starts at seven, be there early to talk to the Queen."

Shane takes the offered invitation like it's gold and his lips twist into a disgusting grin.

"Excellent," he laughs, then- "Brendon, what do we say?"

"Asshole," Patrick mutters, and Shane whirls on him.

"One more word and you will be demoted to servant," Shane spits. "Don't test me."

"He knows about me, then?" Ryan demands, and a muscle in Spencer's cheek twitches. 

"The Prince? No," he says flatly. "The Queen knows who you are."

"Why not _Peter?_ " Ryan whines and Patrick winces.

"Don't call him by his first name, idiot," Shane snaps. "And he's not interested in his mother's plans, that's why. It's not him we need to impress, anyway, it's her."

"Whatever," Ryan mutters. "At least I'll get to sleep with him."

"I hope he uses a condom, it'd be rude to give the Crown Prince of Chicago an STD," Andy snorts, and Ryan glowers at him. 

"Enough from the peanut gallery!" Shane spits. "It's five. We're leaving in an hour; I want all of you presentable in the clothes I bought you, end of debate. Patrick, you will not wear a hat. We need your hair to show, you're the wayward child. You are how the Queen will feel sympathetic to us."

"I have been miscast," Patrick informs him, and he knows the slap is coming seconds before it does. 

"I warned you you'd regret it if you didn't shut your mouth," Shane says lowly. "And you didn't. So now you have to act like the rebel."

"You bleached my hair," Patrick says darkly, and Shane smirks.

"Price you pay, bitch," he snaps, then spits in his face. "Hurry the fuck up, I'm done with you."

Patrick feels like vomiting as he hurriedly wipes his face off, sending a vicious glare at Shane as he goes to get ready.

If he didn't have to worry about Brendon, he'd be out of here in seconds. 

\--

"Oh my god," Patrick says faintly as he takes in Andy's appearance. "What the hell?"

"This is a _suit_ ," Andy sounds like he's been mortally offended. "I've changed my mind, this heist isn't worth it."

"Millions of dollars," Shane reminds him, and Andy rolls his eyes.

"The Wentzes run three charities and donate to several more," Brendon mumbles nervously. "I thought we only pulled heists on the bad rich people."

"Yeah," Patrick agrees slowly and narrows his eyes at Shane, who freezes. "So did I."

"What the _hell_ , Shane?" Andy demands. "Are you insane?"

"What I am is _in charge_ ," Shane hisses, eyes a little wild. "And you will listen."

"Why are we about to embezzle money from a family that _gives to charity?_ " Patrick asks rhetorically. "That kind of defeats any image you clung to of Robin Hood, Shane."

Shane crosses the room in four strides and shoves Patrick hard against the wall, towering above him.

"It doesn't matter why," he says, all faux sweet. "You're a child. All you care about is a roof over your head and food every night and you don't need to question how or why."

"I'm not a child," Patrick snaps. "And that whole scenario is a moot point when I've been part of getting that roof and food since I was twelve."

"You have no choice," Shane replies darkly, then ducks his head to whisper into Patrick's ear. "I'd keep yourself in line, unless you want poor Brendon to be... re-homed."

"Asshole," Patrick throws back, and glares.

"Maybe," Shane laughs, before dropping his voice again. "But I'm the asshole that owns you and owns Brendon, so why don't you pipe down and listen to _Daddy?_ "

Shane punctuates this with a roll of his hard dick against Patrick's hip, and Patrick struggles not to recoil in disgust. 

He grimaces anyway, and Shane laughs, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"Good boy," he taunts, before pulling away to look Patrick up and down. "You look hot."

"Fuck off," Patrick spits, and Shane smirks before turning back to finish getting Ryan ready. 

\--

"Ah, Mr. Morris, it is very nice to meet you," the King grasps Shane's hand firmly and Shane gives a polite half-bow in response. If Patrick didn't know better, he'd say Shane was respectful.

But he does know better, so he sees right through Shane's charade. 

"Your Majesty,” Shane replies. "What an honor it is to be invited to Chicago as your guests." 

"Yes, well," the King sighs. "We're sincerely glad that your son may be exactly what we need for Peter. As I'm sure you know, he's been a bit of a handful, and we just think settling down would do him a world of good."

"I understand all about handfuls," Shane laughs charmingly, inclining his head toward Patrick. The King and Queen both turn to look at him and he pastes on a deeply sarcastic smile until the turn back around.

"I can see that you do," the Queen agrees, amused. "Perhaps we can assist you there, as well. We shall see."

"It's a delicate game to play with them," the King adds, as if Patrick is not standing five feet away and obviously listening. Patrick bristles internally before remembering he can bristle externally, and does. 

"Mr. Morris, this is Joseph, the Prince's aide. He will of course, obey us," the King says, beckoning forth the aforementioned man, who's face was schooled into perfect nonchalance. "He will see you all to your rooms, and provide you with an itinerary for the next few days, to better acquaint your son with Prince Peter."

"Thank you very much, your Majesties," Shane bows again, Ryan hastily following his lead. Andy and Brendon obey as well, albeit very halfheartedly.

Patrick does nothing and doesn't even care that this might be more disrespect than Shane wanted. He's hungry and tired and royally pissed off at the whole situation, so he doesn't really feel like bowing to the people responsible for the state of his hair and who talk real big shit about their own son.

Maybe Patrick is too empathetic, he certainly believes it—he feels everything deeply, and it's not always a good thing. Maybe he's riding on his own anger and disgust, but he doesn't understand how parents could put their son through this. 

Patrick's never met the Prince of Illinois—obviously—but the man’s had his heart broken and his parents only seem to care about appearances.

Patrick's not really feeling too bad about stealing from them after all. He catches Brendon's eye and can tell he's not the only one.

\--

It turns out there's no time for any of them to converse with each other before their itinerary begins. They're barely at their rooms long enough to see that their suitcases have been brought up before they're whisked away to a welcome reception put on just for their benefit.

What that _really_ means is a lot of sitting at the head table and smiling a lot at the various people trying to impress them.

It also means that the furious death glares Shane sent him won't be acted on quite yet. Which is nice. 

"It's so great that a nice young man is coming into the poor Prince's life, after what that awful boy did to him," a woman who's name escapes Patrick is smiling a little dementedly at Shane. Patrick wishes he had more wine. Or any wine. Fuck being underage.

"Oh yes, I've felt so _awful_ for the Prince," Ryan speaks up, and Patrick has to give him credit for his acting. It's improved since the last job. "I only want him to be _happy_."

 _And his money_ , Patrick mentally fills in and hides his snort in his water glass.

He's not quiet enough, though, and the woman whips a glare down to him before smoothing her face down to perfect stillness once again. 

"I don't believe I've met you," she says coldly, and Patrick smiles up at her, as wide and earnest as he can make it. 

"His name is Patrick," Shane cuts in quickly. It's pretty clear he's regretting his casting choice for Patrick. "He's my other middle son. My younger son is beside him; his name is Brendon."

"Hello, sweetie," the woman simpers at Brendon, pinching his cheek. "Too bad you're young, you'd be a cute candidate for the Prince, too. Good thing your brother is as attractive as he is."

"Thank you," Patrick says, before he can help himself, and down the table he sees Andy quickly cover a laugh with his napkin. Ryan looks like he's suffering an aneurysm. 

The woman sneers.

"Pleasure to meet you, _Patrick_ ," she says face pleasant but voice anything but. "I look forward to seeing your brother _Ryan_ meet the Prince."

"Don't we all," Patrick mutters, and Shane clears his throat. 

"Thank you for your contribution to this family, Patrick, but I think you might be coming down with something," he hisses. "Why don't you go to bed early, make sure you're nice and rested for the rest of the week, hmm?"

Shane is going to beat the fuck out of him one way or the other, so Patrick's not really seeing the pros of obeying at the moment.

"I disagree, I think he's probably just hungry," a voice cuts in from behind them, bringing all conversation to a sudden halt. "Which I'm not surprised at, seeing as how it's been two hours without food. My apologies for that."

"Your- your Highness, there is no need for _apology_ ," the woman sputters. "If anything, it's the damn servants, and it's so rude of them-"

"No, actually, if anything at the moment it should be you," the Prince—because of course it's the Prince—continues. "But any and all conversations with you are painful, Ashlee, so if you wouldn't mind excusing yourself from the vicinity, I'm sure the Morris family would be very relieved."

Ashlee gapes at the Prince briefly before turning on her heel and marching away with a “humph.”

"You got the full force of that woman plus being starving, that must have completely sucked," Prince Peter rounds the table and Patrick's mouth abruptly goes dry. "What was your name, again?"

"He's _no one_ ," Shane emphasizes. "Please don't concern yourself with him, Highness, he's not quite my proudest achievement."

 _Ouch_ , that one kind of stung. Patrick avoids Shane's gaze, knowing Shane will see the insult under his skin. 

"Well, I'm not my parents’ either," Prince Peter says, nonplussed. "But I still have a name. He's your son, I would appreciate it if you treated him more kindly, even if he isn't your chosen one."

With that, the Prince turns and walks towards his parents’ table, leaving silence in his wake.

There's a pause, before the King stands.

"Prince Peter has joined us," he announces, voice loud and commanding and perfectly fit for royalty. "We may begin the gala in honor of the Morris family and their impending addition to our royal family. Thank you all for attending as we meet our future Prince!"

Shane turns to Patrick, eyes dark and furious.

"Get out," he spits, under the applause, and Patrick obeys. 

\--

"You fucking _bitch_ ," Patrick's head slams against the wall and he cries out in pain before Shane covers his mouth and nose to shut him up. "You little fucking asshole, you sat there and happily tried to ruin _everything_ , to embarrass us in front of _royalty_ , do you _want_ to get the family thrown out?"

"We're not a fucking _family_ ," Patrick gasps out, and Shane almost snarls before throwing Patrick to the ground and easily pinning him. 

"Inside these walls we _are_ a fucking family," Shane spits, actually spits, and yanks Patrick's hair hard. "And inside or outside you will fucking _obey_ me or I will sell you to the fucking _sharks_. You want that, hm? I threw you there before, I can do it again."

Patrick says nothing but he's sure his glare could melt steel. 

Shane seems unaffected, just laughs and carefully wraps his fingers around Patrick's neck, squeezing just enough for Patrick to be uncomfortable. 

"That's a no, I'm sure it is," he sneers. "That's a shame. They sure loved you. So how about this—you keep your pretty little mouth shut, and my boys won't shove their cocks down your throat again. I think we have a deal, don't you, Andy?"

"Fuck you," Andy hisses lowly, and Shane laughs, pressing further onto Patrick's neck until his breath cuts off and he chokes.

"Shut up, bitch. I'm not done," Shane snaps. "Here's the deal, all of you: the only words you may speak are words about how amazing Ryan is. You will not mention yourselves, you will not have _personalities_ of your own. Patrick, you've already fulfilled your rebel requirements, so I'd be just as happy to lock you up if it wouldn't be suspicious. So you're just gonna have to keep silent in order to prove to me that you can follow my orders and you don't need another lesson from my sharks."

"Shane, please, he can't breathe!" Brendon begs, voice cracking. "Please let him go, he understands, Shane, _please_."

"Does he?" Shane asks, looking down at Patrick. He's going fuzzy, going blurry, and Patrick can't help digging his nails into Shane's hand, pleading for fucking air, because he thinks his lungs are going to burst. He can't help the stray tears that leak from his eyes as he tries to push Shane's hand up, just a centimeter, just enough for a breath, just one breath, just please let him breathe-

Suddenly, he can, and he chokes, dragging in huge lungfuls of air, coughing and wheezing desperately as he goes lightheaded. 

"I think he does," Shane decides coldly. "Now listen to me, Patrick, because I'm not going to repeat myself."

Patrick doesn't answer, coughing a little and inhaling deep. Shane sighs and grabs his chin hard, forcing him to look up at him. 

"This is real simple," Shane growls. "You stay silent and obey me for the rest of this gig, or I will beat the shit out of you and give you a one way ticket to that fucking whorehouse again, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," Patrick mumbles, forcing out the word between gasps of air. 

Shane slaps him hard enough for Patrick's head to slam into the floor.

"Say it _louder_ , so that your baby _Brendon_ hears you," he spits. "Do you fucking understand me?"

" _Yes_ ," Patrick says again, voice horribly hoarse but louder, like Shane wanted. "Yes, I fucking understand you."

"You start now," Shane hisses, and kicks him in the ribs before turning around and glaring at the rest of them. "Everyone out, to their own rooms. No one leaves their rooms until I say so tomorrow, got it? Patrick, fucking figure out how to fix your goddamn face before tomorrow. I don't want to see a single fucking bruise."

With that, Shane grabs Brendon's hair and yanks him forward, towards the door, and locks it behind them, leaving Patrick gasping for breath and struggling not to cry on the cold stone floor. 

\--

Patrick's not sure how long he's been lying here, trying to will up the strength to stand despite the throbbing pain throughout his body-but mostly in his head, _Christ_. 

He's jerked from his pathetic internal complaints by the soft _click_ of the servant's door opening. He freezes, holding his breath and listening intently.

Was it Shane? Fuck did Patrick hope not. 

"You're the middle Morris child, correct?"

The voice makes Patrick jump and immediately curl back up with a yelp. 

"I'm—yeah," Patrick replies, once he's got his breathing under control. "That's me."

"Are you ill?" It's Prince Peter's aide-Joseph, his name is. Patrick squints up at him and sighs.

"Nope," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I just enjoy lying on the ground for extended periods of time."

Joseph's face doesn't change, just remains perfectly schooled and blank as he stares down at Patrick.

"As I'm sure you remember, I am Prince Peter's aide," Joseph finally says. "He sent me to extend an invitation to you to accompany him to the royal vineyards after brunch tomorrow. If you'd be willing, of course."

"Me?" Patrick can't help the slightly accusatory tone. "Have you got the right son?"

"He was quite specific when he emphasized that he did not want the invitation extended to the son his parents want him to court," Joseph replies, and Patrick can see a hint of a smirk. "Which I don't believe is you, judging by your neck, sir. Are you ok?"

"Fine," Patrick mutters. "Just dandy, thank you. I'd love to go, it's only…Shane. He won't let me."

"Shane?" Joseph asks, with a raised eyebrow, and Patrick internally kicks himself. 

"My father and I don't quite get along all the time," Patrick explains quickly, trying to cover his slip up. "His name is Shane. And he wouldn't allow me to go, believe me."

"Oh, I believe you," Joseph says, looking Patrick up and down. "It's pretty clear—the status of you and your father's... relationship. I mean no offense, of course, Mr. Mo-"

"Patrick!" Patrick says, quick and loud. "Patrick is fine, just Patrick. Please. If you don't mind."

Joseph's lips twitch slightly into that same ghost of a smirk.

"If that's what you want, Patrick," Joseph replies. "At the risk of repeating myself, are you really alright? I could bring you our doctor, he's obviously not permitted to speak about who he treats."

"I think I'm really okay," Patrick says. "Unless you have an idea as to how I can hide my unfortunate bruises."

Joseph raises an eyebrow.

"It's supposed to be quite cold tomorrow," he finally answers. "Possibly some snow. May I suggest a scarf?"

"Suggestion noted, thank you, Joseph," Patrick mutters, and Joseph gives him a confused once-over.

"You remember my name?" he asks, voice flat. Patrick frowns.

"Of course I do," he points out slowly. "You were introduced as Joseph."

"It's just-most people just call me ‘Aide’ or ‘servant’," Joseph sounds like he's not supposed to say that, and Patrick can relate. "Only the Prince bothers—I mean—"

"If your name is Joseph, that's what I'll call you," Patrick interrupts to save Joseph anxious backtracking. "Unless you'd rather be called something else. I don't call people 'servant'."

Joseph gives Patrick another look—confused, like he can't quite decide how he feels about Patrick.

"Joseph is fine," he eventually confirms. "Or Joe. But I don't recommend calling me that in front of your family."

"Or the King and Queen?" Patrick asks wryly, and Joe inclines his head.

"They're a different story," he replies. "You'll find out eventually."

"Thanks so much for clearing that up, I'm totally not confused now," Patrick says snidely, and Joe actually laughs.

"I live to serve, Mr. Patrick," he says. "What shall I tell the Prince as to the invitation?"

"If he can figure out how to sneak me away, go for it," Patrick says without thinking. He looks up sharply, but Joe's face is unreadable.

"It'll be cold at the vineyards," Joe tells him, after what seems like a yearlong pause. "Just so you know."

"You don't honestly think he'll manage to sneak me away under the eyes of his parents and my father and brother?" Patrick laughs. Joe's expression doesn't change.

"You'd be surprised," he says with a shrug. "He's very determined."

"Duly noted," Patrick replies faintly. Joe nods and gives Patrick a very slight half bow.

"I will give your answer to the Prince," he informs Patrick. "Have a lovely evening, and if you need something, don't hesitate."

With that, Joe turns and exits silently through the servant's door. Patrick sinks slowly onto the bed, mind whirling.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

\--

Patrick is dressed by the time Shane unlocks his door the next morning. 

"Let me see your face," Shane pushes Patrick back, against the wall and into more light.

"Do I pass?" Patrick asks, barely managing to keep the insolence out of his voice. Shane scowls.

"You'll fucking do, I guess," he mutters. "As long as you don't have such a bad fall again, right?"

"Yes," Patrick mutters, and Shane digs his fingers warningly into Patrick's face.

"Yes _what?_ " Shane hisses, and Patrick has to work to not shove him away.

"Yes _sir_ ," he spits back, and Shane smirks. 

"Be good," he taunts, before stepping back and letting Patrick walk past him, out the door, towards what promised to be a brunch as equally painful and awkward as what Patrick experienced of last night's dinner.

\--

Patrick was wrong. This brunch is far more painful and awkward than the dinner was. 

For one, no one is talking. There were some stilted half-conversations in the beginning but it isn't long before silence reigns. 

For another, Patrick is seated across from Shane, who is purposefully next to Brendon so that Patrick can unmistakably understand the threat. It makes Patrick's stomach tie up in knots and he's starting to understand what Andy went through when Shane used Patrick as a threat. 

Patrick would do anything, absolutely anything, to keep Brendon safe. To protect Brendon from what he went through. And Shane knows it too, the asshole. 

He's really starting to understand Andy's struggle. 

Patrick can't do anything but helplessly stare as Brendon grows more and more frightened. Shane smirks over at him and Patrick clenches his teeth hard.

"Tell your brother you love him, Patrick," Shane suggests tauntingly, voice low. "I think he needs reassurance."

"Shane," Patrick pleads quietly and Shane glares.

"Tell him, Patrick," he hisses, and Patrick swallows a biting retort.

"I love you, Bren," he whispers instead, and Brendon nods.

Patrick wants nothing but for Brendon to be safe.

All he can do is sit through brunch and try not to cringe from the vapid attempts at small talk Ryan makes.

\--

"Do I want to know how you managed this?" Patrick asks, before a hasty "Your Highness?"

"There are no highnesses here, please," the Prince sighs deeply. "Peter is fine. Pete is ideal, if I can convince you to use that. But there is no need for formality, really."

"If you insist, Peter," Patrick says, cautious like the name might burn his mouth. "The question still stands, though. How did you manage this?"

The Prince— _Peter_ —laughs and beckons Patrick further.

"I have my ways," he says, purposefully mysterious. Patrick rolls his eyes.

"Between you and Joe I'll never get a straight answer," Patrick sighs, and Peter turns to him with a raised eyebrow. "You're not about to tell me to call him 'servant', right? Because I won't do it; I don't care what you say."

"I told you to call me Peter and you think I'm going to forbid you from using Joe's name?" Peter asks with a snort. "You're not very observant."

"First of all, you can't forbid me to do anything," Patrick says, narrowing his eyes. "I won't listen, I promise. _Second_ of all you can't forbid me to do _anything_. No one can. You could try, but I wouldn't recommend it. It'll be frustrating."

Peter is staring at him incredulously, a smile twitching at his lips. 

"Who _are_ you?" he asks finally, sounding amazed. "And where have you _been?_ Palace life would be a lot more bearable if everyone treated me like that."

"Like what?" Patrick asks, looking away from the foggy hill and towards Peter. 

Peter's smile wins out.

"Like a person," he says simply. "Instead on an inanimate object or a clone of my father."

Patrick sizes him up, his own lips fighting a smile.

"Well, if they did your ego would be much more manageable," he finally says and Peter looks shocked.

"My ego is perfect, thank you," he snips, then groans when he realizes what he said. "I mean-"

"Poor Peter," Patrick smirks. He can't fight the grin anymore. He reaches up and tugs Peter's hat down quickly, laughing at the noise of protest. "Suffering so deeply in a palace."

Peter pulls his hat off and fits it on Patrick's head, pulling it down over his eyes and snickering.

"I bet you wouldn't survive a day in here," Peter says once Patrick pulls the hat off with a scowl. 

"You bet what?" Patrick asks. "I've done okay so far, you know."

 _It's not the first palace I've been to_ , his mind fills in for him.

"I bet you having to come with me out to the pier tomorrow," Peter says, after a pause. "And oh no, you're right. Looks like you'll have to come after all."

" _That_ ," Patrick says, going for stern but failing entirely. "Is _not_ how betting works."

"I'm the Prince, my rules," Peter laughs and Patrick snorts.

"You can't pick and choose when being the Prince suits you," he protests. Peter laughs and leans in close, fingers closing over the end of Patrick's scarf.

"Watch me," he says, and pulls the scarf off before turning to run.

"You _ass_ ," Patrick shouts, before remembering who Peter is. "Fuck."

"It's not like it isn't true, Patrick," Peter snorts from behind him. Patrick jumps and turns around, reaching for his scarf with a scowl.

But Peter's not budging, almost rooted to the spot, eyes wide and disbelieving. Patrick gently tugs on the scarf, but Peter still doesn't move.

"What?" Patrick asks with a stronger tug. " _Peter_."

"What happened to your neck, Patrick?" Peter asks, voice soft and agonizingly sad. 

Patrick's heart stops.

Fuck. Of course. He'd forgotten, in the moment of laughter and being _normal_ , that he wasn't. He had forgotten who he's with. Fuck.

"Fuck," Patrick whispers hoarsely. "It's—it's nothing, Peter, please—"

"That's not nothing," Peter begins to protest, but they're interrupted by Joe's voice.

"You're going to have to settle this later, Pete," he says sharply. "The King and Queen are driving up. They've brought Patrick's father and brother on a tour of the winery. You need to leave, you both do, and fast, before they catch you."

"Shit," Peter says. "Shit. There's no way I'll sneak in unnoticed. Take Patrick, Joe-"

"They won't let me leave you, you moron," Joe interrupts. "Shut up, I thought ahead. Patrick, your family's servant is here, he'll get you back. Pete is going to do what he does best, and buy you time."

"Peter?" Patrick asks softly, and Peter flashes him a quick smile.

"I'm going to distract them," he says. "Get in safe, you're going to the pier with me tomorrow."

"Ok," Patrick says numbly, and Spencer grabs his hand. 

"Patrick, c'mon, quick," he urges, and Patrick obeys, stumbling away with his heart racing. 

\--

"Peter?" Spencer asks quietly as they make their way down the hall to their rooms. Patrick gives him a sidelong look.

"It's a very long story," he says, because it's true. "I need to ask you something."

"You can ask me whatever," Spencer says. "You know that."

"This is different," Patrick murmurs, glancing around. "This is way different."

Spencer narrows his eyes.

"Spit it out," he says firmly. "Sometime this century."

Patrick smacks his arm. 

"I'm serious," he says quietly. "I need you to promise."

"What?" Spencer asks, and Patrick takes a deep breath.

"This is the closest chance we will ever have," Patrick explains, and recognition crosses Spencer's face. "Yes. That. There is no other time we will ever be separated from Shane with this much time and space, and it needs to be soon. We can't lose this."

"You're still sure Shane doesn't actually know where I'm from or where I lived?" Spencer asks quickly. Patrick nods.

"And Shane won't go to any authorities, he has too much at stake to get involved with the law at any point," he adds. "So it needs to be soon. When the King and Queen take Shane and Ryan out somewhere again, that's when. We can bullshit your way out, no problem."

"You and Andy?" Spencer asks, and Patrick shakes his head. 

"We can't," he says, heart clenching because it's true. "We have to stay here. If we stay here, it'll keep Shane off your trail at least until this is over. One child? He can lie about a trip. Three plus a servant? No explaining."

"He'll beat you and Andy," Spencer protests softly. "What's stopping him from that?"

"He can't beat Andy," Patrick corrects, skipping over himself. "And right now, we don't matter. What matters is you and Brendon getting out. I can't have him hurt anymore."

"Sooner rather than later," Andy's voice makes Patrick jump and swear. "Emphasis on the sooner."

Patrick turns and takes in Andy's appearance—dead serious with a pinched, pained look in his eye.

"What happened?" he asks lowly, and follows when Andy beckons.

"Brendon got into it with Ryan," Andy explains in an undertone. "I tried to intervene before Shane got there, but Shane walked in too soon. He didn't even ask, he just—he laid into Brendon until I guess he realized he was leaving marks on the 'precious angel' boy."

"Fuck," Patrick whispers. "Fuck, while I was gone? While Spencer and I were gone?"

"It would have been worse if you were there, Patrick," Andy says firmly. "You know that."

Patrick opens his mouth, but he's beaten to his question. 

"Is he okay?" Spencer's voice is quiet, almost afraid, and Patrick looks from him to Andy.

"He'll be okay," Andy eventually answers. "I think right now he's mostly scared. I have no idea where Shane went."

"The vineyards, with the King and Queen," Patrick says, mind racing. "Who knows how long they'll be gone."

"He's in your room; Spencer can leave through the servants’ door when we hear Shane," Andy points out and Patrick nods.

"Go," he tells Spencer, who doesn't even hesitate before he's slipping through the door. "Fuck, Andy."

"Where were you?" Andy asks. Patrick glances up at him—Andy's not accusatory, or even angry, more curious and concerned. 

"Not with Shane," Patrick reassures quickly, and Andy relaxes minutely. "With—with the Prince."

"With the who, sorry?" Andy demands, eyebrow raised. "I didn't realize you actually wanted Shane to murder you."

"Was I going to tell the Prince no when he told me I was going with him?" Patrick points out. "Besides, drop it for now. Help. We have to figure out a way to get them out."

Andy sighs. 

"I'll get ahold of their itinerary from Joe," he says slowly. It's Patrick's turn to raise an eyebrow, but Andy stops him with a sharp look. "And we can try and plan from there. I'm afraid that if Shane gets much angrier at Brendon, he could do worse damage."

Patrick nods and glances at his door.

"Go, Patrick," Andy says softly. "He needs you, too."

Patrick clenches his teeth to prevent the angry tears from falling and listens.

\--

Spencer is cradling Brendon's face and kissing him gently when Patrick walks in. They both jump and break apart hastily at the noise before looking around and seeing Patrick.

"This is new," Patrick says conversationally, and Brendon flushes hotly.

"I'll—I'll be right back," Spencer mumbles quickly and beats a retreat through the servant's door.

Patrick watches him go, amused, before turning to raise an eyebrow at Brendon.

"I—I—He—" Brendon stutters, trying to find an explanation, and Patrick laughs.

"It's pretty self explanatory, no need," he tells Brendon, smile softening his words. Brendon grins, a little abashed, before stumbling forward and throwing his arms around Patrick.

"Patrick," he says, voice breaking, and the mood is immediately shifted.

"I'm sorry, Brendon, I wasn't here," Patrick whispers before squeezing him as tight as he dares. "How bad did he hurt you?"

"No, Patrick, if you had been here he would have been worse," Brendon shakes his head, echoing Andy's earlier words. "He was already angry, he would have gotten angrier."

"That's very true," Shane's voice literally chills Patrick to the bone, and he slowly turns to face Shane, unconsciously placing himself in front of Brendon. "I was angry. Not really at Brendon's little pathetic attempt at a fight, no. If Ryan was beat up by a twig like Brendon I would laugh in his face. No, I was angry because no matter how high and low I searched, I could not find my other middle son. Where was he?"

"You must not have searched very hard," Patrick says, voice dark. "Because I've been in the garden this whole time."

"Oh, the garden?" Shane snarls. "When it's 20 degrees out?"

"Do you see the snow on me?" Patrick snaps. "Where the hell else would I be? You think anyone would let me go anywhere?"

Shane snorts. 

"Well," he spits. "Maybe in the future, you'll stick closer to the rooms. So that I can always find you. And this little... mistake won't repeat itself. Right?"

Brendon squeezes Patrick's hand, and Patrick takes a slow breath.

"Right," he finally mutters, and Shane smirks. 

"See? We can solve problems as a family," Shane says, sarcasm heavy. "We're due at dinner in an hour. Have some brother bonding time while you fix little Brendon's injuries. He should know better than to run on the ice. He'll slip again."

Shane turns and stalks out, leaving Patrick furiously holding onto Brendon and fighting to keep from screaming in frustration. 

\--

It's sometime around three AM when Patrick is awakened by his door opening. He freezes, listening intently, wishing he had something he could use to defend himself. 

"It's me," Brendon whispers, and Patrick sits up, reaching over to flip on the light. 

"Bren, what's wrong?" Patrick asks softly, and Brendon sighs shakily before making his way across the room to Patrick.

"I can't—I can't be alone, I guess," Brendon mumbles. "Shane told me some—some stuff, and then told me to go talk to you about it and threw me out. I don't know what he wants."

"Don't worry about it," Patrick says immediately. "Was he drunk?"

"Very," Brendon confirms, and Patrick sighs.

"Stay with me, it's ok," Patrick tells him, brushing his hair back. "And don't listen to anything Shane says, especially drunk."

"It's not the first time he said it, though," Brendon protests. "He said it earlier. Why does he keep threatening to send you away to the sharks?"

"Fuck," Patrick breathes. "It's—Shane is an asshole; you don't need to be told that. He's an asshole with control issues. Andy was never one to be controlled. Shane figured out really quick that Andy would do whatever he said if Shane threatened me."

"Who're the sharks?" Brendon asks like he kind of knows, and Patrick sighs. 

"They're his... I guess old business partners?" Patrick shrugs. "I won't let them near you. Ever."

"Shane told me to ask you what they did," Brendon sounds like he's fighting tears. "He told me it's a valuable lesson."

"Shane is a drunk piece of shit," Patrick says firmly. "It doesn't matter because it'll never happen again, ok?"

"I won't let it," Brendon says fiercely, like he's a full grown adult instead of a malnourished, scared kid. Patrick kind of wants to cry.

"I know, B," he says softly. "C'mon, you've got to sleep."

Brendon crawls in Patrick's bed and promptly curls up close, fingers clinging to Patrick's shirt.

"Goodnight, Patrick," he says, voice incredibly soft. Patrick ruffles his hair and flips off the light again.

"Goodnight, Bren," he replies, and prays it will be. 

\--

It's only been a couple hours before Patrick wakes with the realization that Shane is at the foot of the bed.

There's a pause.

"Did you tell him about that valuable lesson?" Shane still sounds drunk, and Patrick grits his teeth, aware of Brendon clinging to him even in sleep.

"Fuck off, Shane," he hisses. "I get the message."

"Good," Shane laughs, and the door shutting behind him echoes in Patrick's brain the rest of the night.

\--

Patrick wakes to gray morning light filtering in through the curtains, Brendon still curled up as close as possible, and Andy asleep on Brendon's other side, his arm tossed over the both of them to rest over Patrick's back.

Patrick's heart aches. 

He buries his face into Brendon's mess of dark hair and breathes slowly, in and out, willing himself to pretend that everything that has happened has been a dream, that maybe they've woken up in a universe without Shane. That maybe they'd be ok.

"Mr. Patrick?" 

Patrick starts before looking up sharply to meet Joe's eyes. 

"Yeah?" he manages once he remembers how to speak. Joe's eyes are flitting between Andy and Brendon before settling on Patrick.

"Your father had to leave for the day on business," he says. Patrick swallows hard, praying to God that that's just Shane's code for going to get wasted without judgment. "Your other brother is undoubtedly going to be sleeping the whole day with no one to wake him for anything."

"Okay," Patrick says softly, not quite sure where any of this is going beyond the slight hope that today might be blessedly Shane-free. 

Joe inclines his head. 

"I believe I have things to keep your younger brother very happy and occupied," he continues. "As long as you get dressed, please, and go to the kitchen door to wait."

_Oh._

"Oh," Patrick echoes his thoughts before swallowing hard. "He's—really, the whole day? My father, I mean. He's gone?"

"Undoubtedly so," Joe confirms. "Has your answer from yesterday changed?"

Patrick takes a huge breath. 

"No," he says. "It hasn't."

\--

"I have to ask you again how you keep managing this," Patrick says conversationally, once they make it to the end of the pier. "Once is unbelievable. Twice is practically a miracle. You're lucky my father is away."

"Luck has nothing to do with it," Peter replies with a smirk. 

Patrick's jaw drops.

"What did you _do?_ " he demands, going for angry and getting incredulous instead. "How'd you trick him?"

"It was almost disgustingly easy," Peter laughs. "But some secrets are best kept."

Patrick narrows his eyes.

"I'm going to find out," he tells Peter, pointing a finger sternly. "That's a promise."

"If you figure it out I'd be impressed," Peter laughs. "The sun suits you, you know."

Patrick flushes. 

The sun had indeed crept out from behind the perpetual winter sky, reflecting bright off the snow and the ice covering the lake at the end of the pier. It was breathtakingly gorgeous, but Peter wasn't even looking at the lake-he was staring at _Patrick_ , as if he was the beautiful scenery.

Patrick's heart clenches. 

"C'mon, I didn't drag you all the way out here for nothing," Peter cajoles. "I want to show you something. It's down the beach a little ways. I've never shown it to anyone."

"Not even the people who built it?" Patrick teases, before frowning. "I can't get down there, you moron."

Patrick barely refrains from apologizing profusely. Besides, it's interesting to see how far he can go. And who the real Prince is.

"You have no faith in me, Patty," Peter laughs, and Patrick scowls.

"Do not call me 'Patty'," he informs Peter, poking his chest firmly in emphasis. "And I have all the faith in the world that you can get down there. I just don't believe in your magical ability to also bring me down there. I'm not jumping."

"There are _stairs_ ," Peter sighs, but he's still fighting a smile, and Patrick wants to giggle uncontrollably.

What is wrong with him?

"What did you put in my water?" Patrick asks as he follows Peter to the stairs. "Because I'll have you know I am an honorable and well-behaved young man. Just don't ask my father."

"It's obvious how honorable you are, Trick," Peter replies, reaching out to help Patrick down. "I just doubt you're that well behaved. You're sneaking out with a Prince, after all. Will you just grab my hand?"

Patrick sticks his tongue out at Peter, and lets out the most unattractive squeal as Peter simply grabs Patrick around the waist and hauls him down to the beach level. 

"Alright, alright, I'm down," Patrick laughs. "Show me your secret hiding spot, Peter. Is this where you lure all the boys until they're never heard from again?"

"You're not funny," Peter protests, clearly lying. "Call me Pete."

"Pete makes you sound like a tool," Patrick points out, and Peter throws him a smirk.

"Maybe I am a tool," he suggests, and it's a joke but Patrick can see an undercurrent of self-loathing behind the words and he's suddenly inexplicably angry at Peter's ex, even though he's never met him.

"You're not a tool," Patrick says softly. "You're the complete opposite of a tool. Ryan? He's a tool. Not you. But I'll call you Pete if you like it better."

"I like it better," Peter—Pete—confirms with a slightly lopsided grin. "Peter is my father."

Patrick's not sure how much more he can take of Pete's staring, like Patrick is some sort of treasure, like Patrick is actually not laughably below Pete, like this little world they've been creating can last.

"Take me to your secret place, Pete," Patrick says, and Pete does.

\--

"Nobody knows this is here?" Patrick asks disbelievingly, staring around the small cave. 

"I'm sure people have seen it," Pete shrugs. "But I think they think it's flooded instead of dry. So it's all mine."

"You could practically live here," Patrick marvels, and Pete laughs, the sound echoing off the rock walls.

"Believe me, the thought has crossed my mind," he admits. "Joe wouldn't let me. He knows this is here. But then again, he knows everything. No one else knows, though."

Patrick is suddenly aware of how much trust Pete is placing in him right now.

He swallows hard. 

"It's beautiful," he whispers, smiling over at Pete. "Thank you for showing it to me."

Pete shrugs.

"Thanks for not thinking it's weird," he counters. "That's my number one fear—people realizing I have this place and assuming I'm a strange loner Prince and not trusting any of my ideas."

"I doubt that would happen," Patrick replies. "You're far too charming for that."

"Charming?" Pete asks with a smirk. "Can I get that in writing?"

"You're lucky to get it verbally," Patrick says, trying hard to sound stern and mostly failing. 

"Oh, but it's so lovely coming from you," Pete laughs, and Patrick narrows his eyes.

"You're going to have to learn to appreciate other things," he says. "You can't live on a diet of compliments alone."

"But I'm the Prince," Pete tries, laughing at Patrick's immediate outraged look.

"You did _not_ just say that," he says disbelievingly. "Here I was, thinking I could train that out of you-"

"You? Train me?" Pete laughs. "You know everyone is going to expect me to train _you_."

Patrick narrows his eyes again.

" _No one_ trains me," he emphasizes. "My father can't train me, you think I'll obey some _Prince?_ "

"You are the most fascinating person I have ever met," Pete says in wonder, before he's kissing Patrick, he's _kissing him_ , deeply and breathlessly, and Patrick—

Patrick's not stopping him.

He kisses back, gripping Pete's arms tightly, moaning softly as Pete's hands cradle his jaw. Everything falls away except for this, the slick sweet taste of their mouths, the cloud they might as well have been floating on.

Patrick's dizzy by the time Pete pulls away slightly, and he stares up at Pete with what he's sure is the most dazed look he's ever seen. 

"I'm glad your father started scheming with my parents," Pete whispers, lips practically brushing Patrick's. "It brought me you."

"Pete," Patrick's voice is almost inaudible, but Pete hears it and ducks down to kiss him again. 

"I know your father put those bruises on your neck," Pete says suddenly, pulling away again. "I know he did. And I have no idea how many other times it's happened or if it's happened to the rest of you but I swear to God I won't let it happen again."

Patrick wants to break down and cry.

"Pete, I—" he tries again, but Pete cuts him off with a kiss, deep and long, and Patrick wishes against every odd stacked up that this could be real.

"I hate to interrupt," Joe's voice makes them jerk apart for the second time, and they both stare wide-eyed, caught. "But Mr. Patrick's father is en route to the Palace again. He's about two hours out. It would be best if we returned before he did."

Joe's face looks as blank as usual, but Patrick can read into some sort of message broadcasting to Pete from Joe's eyes. 

"Fuck," Patrick breathes, and looks over at Pete, biting his lip.

Pete swallows. 

"Ok, we'll—we'll be right there," he says finally. "Two minutes."

"Two," Joe reiterates, before stepping outside again. 

"Pete," Patrick whispers, and gasps into another kiss. 

"Sneak out with me again, Patrick, say you will," Pete breathes. "Please."

Patrick's in over his head. He's been in over his head since the vineyard, and every fucking second with Pete is both a nail in his coffin and a brutal stab to his heart. 

This has gone far beyond Patrick's control.

"I will sneak out with you as often as you can get me out," Patrick replies anyway, kissing Pete fiercely and shoving the dread growing in his stomach away.

He's going to fucking hang on to this as long as he can.

He knows it will all go south, and fast. 

But he can't stop. 

\--

It's been a week. 

A full week since Pete kissed him like he needed him to breathe, a full week since Patrick's world was turned fully on its head.

It hasn't gotten easier. 

Patrick turns the crisp invitation over in his hands, like maybe the gold writing would read something else this time, but it doesn't. It never does. It's still there, still mocking him, and if Patrick could, he'd break down right here and cry.

_King Peter and Queen Dale are pleased to invite you to the official engagement party of the crown Prince Peter, celebrating the impending welcoming of his spouse Ryan Morris._

Fuck.

This is fucking ridiculous. 

"I've always thought royal invitations were horribly boring," Joe's voice isn't even a surprise to Patrick. He doesn't turn, doesn't even acknowledge Joe, and Joe sighs.

"That invitation is wrong," Joe says quietly, and Patrick laughs in self-deprication.

"This invitation is never going to be right," he replies without thinking. "And I'm a fucking idiot for even hoping."

"Pete isn't happy," Joe counters, and Patrick looks up quickly before he can help himself. "The King and Queen sent these invitations without his knowledge or consent."

"Yeah?" Patrick mumbles. "And how is he planning to stop them?"

"I don't know," Joe says truthfully. "But he's nothing if not determined. You know that."

Patrick wants to scream in frustration. 

"Your brother," Joe begins gently. "Is being fitted for a suit for the party. The tailor is a friend. He's going to make the appointment drag on as much as possible."

"And?" Patrick says, voice cracking. "That won't stop my father from leaving."

"Actually," Joe corrects, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "There's a new, totally bullshit, completely made up rule about how the person getting fitted needs to keep a family member with them. For supervision, you know."

"What a convenient rule," Patrick mutters, and Joe inclines his head.

"Isn't it?" he asks rhetorically, and holds his hand out. "If you would please follow me, Patrick, and leave that useless piece of paper behind."

Patrick glances from Joe's hand to his face before sighing.

"Alright," he accepts quietly, though he knows this will hurt like nothing else.

\--

 _Patrick_ ," Pete breathes as Joe brings him inside. "Oh god, Patrick, I'm _sorry_."

"For what?" Patrick asks quietly. "I—I knew it—it—"

Pete cuts him off with a swift kiss, backing him against the wall of the servants’ hallway. 

"You didn't know anything," he says fiercely when he pulls back. "Because I didn't know anything. My parents made this decision and they will change this decision."

"You’re supposed to marry Ryan," Patrick whispers desperately. "That's how this whole thing was supposed to go."

"I don't give a fuck how this was supposed to go," Pete argues. "I didn't make this decision."

"You shouldn't marry Ryan," Patrick mumbles before he can think better of it. "You shouldn't marry any of us, you shouldn't let my father anywhere near your family, Pete-"

"I should marry _you_ ," Pete says, pressing his forehead to Patrick's. "I should marry you, and your father will have to fuck off."

"It's not that simple," Patrick's voice cracks. "Brendon—"

"This is the _royal family_ you're talking about," Pete emphasizes. "I can protect Brendon. I can protect you."

" _Pete_ ," Patrick tries, but Pete just kisses him hard. 

"Please, Patrick," Pete murmurs. "Please."

Patrick nods, not even kind of sure what he's agreeing to, and follows when Pete leads.

\--

Patrick left his brain in the servants’ hallway, he's sure of it. That's the only reason he's here, pressed up against Pete's door, bare chest pressing against Pete's, gasping for breath. 

"Fuck," he moans when Pete manages to get his hand into Patrick's pants. Pete shivers and kisses him again, harder, insistent. 

"Let me—I want—" Pete begins, but Patrick stops him with a hard kiss.

"Please," he begs, echoing Pete's earlier words, and Pete nods.

Their clothes are gone so fast it's a miracle none of them ripped—as far as Patrick cares to check, that is. 

He's a little distracted, a little busy, Pete's lips attached to his neck and shaking almost to his core. 

"I am a well-behaved young man," Patrick whispers with a smirk, and Pete laughs.

"The hell you are," he says, and twists two fingers into Patrick without warning.

Patrick moans, loud and unmistakable, echoing off Pete's high ceiling. His nails are probably digging into Pete's shoulders right now, but he really couldn't care less. He rakes them down Pete's back as Pete twists his fingers again, leaving Patrick gasping. 

"You're so fucking hot," Pete groans, and Patrick tries to glare.

"Fuck me," he demands, but it comes out breathy through his desperate panting. "Stop being a tease."

"Pushy, pushy," Pete whispers, and pulls his fingers out. "I think I dropped the condom."

Patrick throws one at his head.

"Under your pillow, you creep," he says, but his words are betrayed by the fondness he can't believe he is letting into his voice. "Hurry up."

"Magic word," Pete pants, rolling the condom on and slicking up with more lube. 

" _Now_ ," Patrick orders, and Pete smirks.

"As you wish," he murmurs, and then he's pushing in. Patrick covers his mouth quickly to muffle the strangled cry that wants to escape, and Pete shudders and starts thrusting in earnest.

Patrick should be more worried about the progressively louder moans he's making, but he can't even gather a breath, let alone a single thought that isn't _Pete_.

He strains up, tangling his fingers into Pete's hair and yanking him down for a biting kiss. Pete returns it with fervor, groaning when Patrick clenches around him.

"Pete, I'm gonna—" Patrick gasps suddenly, the realization hitting him out of nowhere. "I'm—"

That's all the warning he gets out before he's coming, moaning Pete's name into his neck. 

Pete swears, sharp and short, and he follows Patrick over the edge, half-collapsing on top of him.

Patrick tries his best to regain his breathing ability as he forces his fingers to release their death grip on Pete's hair and shoulder, wincing when he sees the marks he'd accidentally left behind.

"Fuck, Trick," Pete says, laughing into Patrick's sweaty hair. Patrick turns his face into Pete's neck and gives in to the hysterical laughter building in his chest, clutching at Pete's arm while he collects himself.

Pete's no better, just giggling stupidly until he's out of breath completely, watching Patrick come down with fond eyes.

"Patrick," Pete says softly, and leans in to kiss him, chaste and sweet.

"Pete," Patrick replies, and kisses back.

\--

"I'll make it right, Patrick."

It's sudden and unprompted, causing Patrick to look up at Pete in confusion, shirt halfway back on.

"Make what right?" he asks, frowning. He pulls on his shirt and buttons it up, wandering over to Pete when he doesn't answer right away. "Pete."

"This engagement," Pete elaborates, and his eyes are serious, contemplative.

The desperate frustration Patrick had almost forgotten about slams back into him, uninvited, and he swallows hard.

"Pete—" he begins, but is cut short as the door swings open.

They both turn to look immediately, and Patrick is sure they look like the epitome of guilty children, caught red-handed. They might be dressed, but they're the most obvious thing in the world—the crown Prince and his fiancé's brother, sleeping together when no one is looking.

"Peter," it's the Queen, of course it's the Queen, and she looks shocked. "Peter, what is this?"

"Mom," Pete says desperately. "Please come in and close the door, please."

The Queen surveys him for a moment before moving to do so, to grant them the privacy Pete requested. 

It's too late.

"Your Majesty!" 

Patrick feels every bit of blood in him rush out of his face, following the unpleasant plunge his stomach took at the sound of Shane's voice. 

Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. He's screwed. He is so fucking screwed, _Brendon_ is so fucking screwed, because of him.

Fuck.

Shane looks like a fucking freight train hit him the second he sees Patrick and Pete, and his face twists into something Patrick's only seen once, at Andy, the day Shane sent him away to punish Andy. 

Oh fuck. 

"What is this, Patrick?" Shane's voice is deadly calm, and Patrick feels like he might actually pass out. "Would you please explain yourself?"

"I can explain," Pete interrupts, drawing Shane's attention away. "I can explain to you and to my mother that if she wants me to marry, I will marry. But I will marry who I choose to marry."

Pete pauses, looking from Shane to the Queen.

"I choose Patrick," he finishes, and Patrick's heart stops.

Shit.

The Queen's face is absolutely unreadable, her stare locked onto Pete. 

And Shane—Shane's looking only at Patrick, eyes only on Patrick, and the message in his eyes is clearer than anything Patrick's ever seen. 

Patrick's fucked. 

"Well," the Queen says, voice calm and even. "We will need to have a meeting about this, I think? Peter, you need to make yourselves presentable again and join us in the dining room immediately. Your father and I will meet you there, with Mr. Morris."

"Yes, Mother," Pete says, voice matching his mother's calmness. 

The Queen turns and sweeps out of the room, forcing Shane to follow—though not before he shoots a disgusted glare through Patrick, chilling him to the bone. 

"What the hell?" Joe wastes no time, entering Pete's room almost as soon as the door is closing. "What the actual fuck, Pete?"

"Where's Spencer?" Patrick says suddenly, interrupting and not even caring. "I need him, I need him now."

"He's behind me, we came to try and talk sense into both of you, but I guess we were too late," Joe snaps. He doesn't sound angry, really—more incredulous. "You really did it, Pete."

"Patrick?" Spencer ducks into the room, staring over at him with wide eyes. "Did that really happen?"

"Now, Spencer, it has to be fucking now," Patrick overrides the question, heart racing and hands shaking desperately. "You have to go, you have to take Brendon and go, okay? Right _now_ because it's going to be the last chance we've got."

"Take him where?" Joe demands, mirroring Pete's confused look. 

"Take him _home_ ," Patrick says, holding Spencer's gaze, silently pleading. "Joe, please, please help them get out."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Joe says slowly. "But if you want me to escort them out of the palace with no fanfare, I can do that."

"Please," Patrick begs. "Spencer."

"Okay," Spencer swallows hard. "Okay. Okay."

Patrick yanks Spencer into a hug.

"Tell him I love him," he whispers, mouth at Spencer's ear. "Tell him I'll see him again soon."

"Yeah," Spencer breathes, and Patrick lets go. 

"Patrick," Pete's voice is gentle, and he looks away from Spencer, blinking back the tears that threaten to form. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, Pete," Patrick chokes out. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Spencer slip away with Joe, and he has to use every last bit of willpower to hold back the sob that wants to escape.

He'll never see Brendon again. 

"Breathe," Pete whispers, carefully cupping Patrick's face. "You've got to breathe. I promise you everything will be fine." 

Patrick nods, trying desperately to inhale, exhale, just like normal.

"I'm just overwhelmed," he lies, he fucking lies. "And I'm so—my father, I'm scared of his reaction."

That part is true. 

"He's not going to hurt you," Pete says, eyes fierce. "I won't let him hurt you."

Patrick nods again, heart hammering. 

"Okay," he says numbly, and takes the hand Pete offers. 

\--

"I'm just shocked, Your Majesties," sometimes Patrick forgets how good of an actor Shane is. "Even for Patrick, this is beyond inappropriate."

He looks directly at Patrick, holding his gaze evenly. 

"I have to wonder what kind of impression you are leaving on Brendon, Patrick," Shane says coldly, hidden meaning in every single fucking word and Patrick prays that Spencer and Brendon are gone. 

"We are all shocked, Mr. Morris, but there is no need to be hysterical," King Peter speaks now, and Patrick swallows hard. "I fail to see how this is really a problem. We want Peter to marry."

"Agreed," the Queen says quietly. "And apologies, Mr. Morris, but you were well aware that Ryan really had no connection to Peter. Is one son worse than another?"

"Not at all, your majesties," Shane says quickly. "I think my surprise is merely getting to me. May I speak to my son, alone?"

Patrick pales. 

"Perhaps later," Pete interrupts quickly. "The thing I'm more worried about is the invitations, mother."

"We will have to think of something," the King sighs. "That doesn't involve you in bed with your proposed fiancé's brother."

"May I remind you," Pete says, voice going a little cold. "That you were the ones that did the proposing, without my knowledge?"

"I thought the meaning of the Morris’ visit was clear, Peter," the Queen replies testily. "But that doesn't matter now. The party is tomorrow, we have to come up with something quickly."

"The best thing to do might be to simply ignore what the invitations say," the King muses. "I doubt people pay that much attention."

"I'm sorry, Your Majesties," Andy's voice surprises Patrick. He looks quickly over at him, eyes wide. "My father had called for me?"

"Yes, I did," Shane says smoothly. "Andy, Patrick has news for you. Take your brother, won't you? I need to assist our King and Queen."

"Patrick," Pete starts, before the King clears his throat. 

"Tomorrow you'll be together forever, I think you can let him out of your sight for now," he tells Pete, before addressing Andy. "Go ahead, then."

Patrick inhales shakily before obeying, following Andy quietly out the door.

\--

"Are they gone?" Patrick asks immediately, as soon as they're out of earshot. "Tell me they're gone."

"They're gone," Andy confirms. "Brendon—he—well. He cried for you, of course."

"Fuck," Patrick breathes. "We didn't have a choice. Shane would've killed him."

"What happened, Patrick?" Andy demands suddenly, stopping their walk abruptly. "Before you inevitably try to lie, please know I've talked to Joe."

"Fuck, Andy," Patrick's voice wavers and suddenly he's in Andy's arms, holding on for dear life as he fights full-on tears. "It—it went out of control so fast, I should've stopped it but—then we got caught. And Pete, he said he's only marrying me."

"That's why you sent Brendon away," Andy says slowly. "So you could marry Pete."

"No," Patrick chokes out. "No, I can't marry Pete. I can't. I'm in love with him, Andy. I can't marry him and let Shane's plan go through, I can't stand there and lie to him. I can't."

"But what will you _do?_ " Andy asks, voice edging on as desperate as Patrick feels. Patrick swallows hard.

"I'll leave," he says quietly. "I don't have a choice. And if I leave, that means you're free now, too."

"Patrick, fuck you," Andy says fiercely. "Like fucking hell I ever need to be "free" from you. Where you go, I go, you idiot. You are my _brother_."

"Andy," Patrick's voice cracks. "Andy, I have to leave. I have to. For Pete."

"I know," Andy whispers, and Patrick finally cries. 

\--

Patrick writes a letter that night.

He goes through about seven drafts until he's satisfied, until he feels it says the things he wanted it to say.

_Dear Pete,_

_I don't think I can describe to you the things you mean to me. I don't think I have the words to tell you how much I love you, because I do Pete, I do. I love you._

_That's why I left._

_I can't lie to you, Pete. I can't lie and let Shane win._

_You're worth too much._

_Pete, my family is not a family. Shane is not my father, Ryan is not my brother. Brendon and Andy are the closest thing I have to family. Andy and I only ever stayed under Shane to protect Brendon. To prevent the things that happened to us from happening to him._

_Shane's life's work is embezzlement. I'm not innocent. I've helped. I've done my fair share of jobs for him._

_This was a job. This was supposed to be the biggest job. This was supposed to be the last job for me. We knew that this was going to be the only time we were unsupervised enough to be able to slip Brendon to safety, so that we could leave, too. It was supposed to be the end._

_Brendon got out. Spencer—who is not our servant, as I'm sure you've realized by now—took him and brought him to safety, so here I am._

_I'm writing to tell you that Shane wants to take you and your family for everything they have. Shane is a disgusting excuse for a human being. Shane shouldn't be anywhere near you or your family—and I hope you believe me when I say I'm not Shane._

_My only goal for this job was to help Brendon escape._

_Please believe me when I tell you I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to lie to you and steal from you. I never even intended to meet you._

_But I did, I did meet you, and I did lie to you, but I'm telling you the truth now because I won't hurt you again._

_I fell in love with you, Pete. I fell in love with everything about you._

_I'm gone so that you will be safe._

_Please forgive me._

_Patrick._

 

\--

Patrick's numb from everything. 

The fittings, the arrangements for the party, Shane's wrath—everything.

He's especially numb because they won't let him see Pete, not until the proposal, so that means a lot of being alone around Shane.

Shane, who realized really quick that Brendon and Spencer ran for it.

Shane, who informed Patrick that he _would_ marry Pete, he _would_ finish the heist—and after?

He would go to the sharks. If there was much of him left after Shane was done with him.

If everything were normal, if _Patrick_ was normal, tonight would be the most exciting night he's ever had.

He's getting engaged to _Pete_.

If Patrick were normal, this is what he'd want more than anything, pretty much.

But he's not.

He's hot in his suit; it's incredibly warm outside for spring. His palms are disgustingly sweaty, and he’s glad he doesn’t have the letter in his hand to get ruined.

It's folded neatly in his pocket, waiting for the right moment. 

Which is now.

The clock chimes midnight out over the crowd of partygoers.

Fifteen more minutes until Pete is scheduled to propose.

Fourteen more minutes until Patrick leaves.

Two minutes until Patrick leaves the note in Pete's room, safe for him to find. He hopes it's enough. He just hopes it’s enough.

"Patrick!"

 _Pete_.

"Pete," he whispers hoarsely. "Pete, I-"

"Now Patrick," it's Shane, of course it's fucking Shane, appearing from around the corner beside Pete, clearly drunk and sneering. "Speak up to your fiancé. Make sure he hears you."

"Patrick," Pete says gently, eyes soft. "Are you ready?"

"Ready, Patrick?" Shane parrots, smirking, and Patrick's heart crumples. 

"I'm sorry, Pete," Patrick mumbles brokenly, reaching into his pocket and deliberately dropping the letter to the ground. He meets Pete’s eyes for a brief millisecond before turning and running, biting his lip against tears.

_"Patrick!"_

He ignores Pete's shout and pushes ahead, not realizing he's begun to cry until his tears blur his vision. He chokes on a sob and slips through the gates, running away from the happiness he cannot have. 

\--

Patrick's probably been running for a good fifteen minutes before something trips him and he goes sprawling down the gravel road, wincing as it digs into his skin.

"Patrick, Patrick, Patrick," someone laughs, and Patrick recognizes that voice, recognizes it from four years ago, from the fucking whorehouse Shane sent him to.

"Fuck you," he snarls, kicking out, and is rewarded with a hiss of pain.

"Little brat," the asshole spits, and reaches down to haul Patrick up. "Care to repeat that?"

Patrick struggles, spitting into the face of the man whose name he never learned. He's done. He's done with being treated like this.

"Fuck you," Patrick growls again, and the stranger punches him in the stomach, knocking the air right out of him. 

"Nah," the asshole laughs. "I won't do that until after the wedding. I've been instructed to bring you back if I find you—do you really think Shane is stupid?"

"Do you want me to answer that question?" Patrick snaps, and the asshole sighs before slapping Patrick across the face, hard enough to stun him. 

"C'mon, soon to be Princess," the fucking douche taunts, and easily throws him into the trunk of the awaiting car. 

\--

Patrick spends most of the short car ride back to the palace praying for death. He has no idea what to expect, but that question is quickly answered when the trunk is thrown open and Shane yanks Patrick out by his hair.

"You fucking bitch," Shane hisses. "You think I'm gonna let you ruin this? You think I didn't plan for when you inevitably would run away?"

"Go fuck yourself," Patrick manages, and the slap he gets for it splits his lip.

"You're not gonna escape," Shane snarls. "You're going _nowhere_. You and Andy are stuck here until you marry the Prince, then I'm gonna take you and Andy and make him watch as I hand you the fuck over again. Are we clear? You made this situation for yourself, smuggling _Brendon_ out of my possession, fucking with _my plan_ like that—this is the price you fucking pay. And the price Andy fucking pays for helping is to watch you get the living shit beaten out of you."

"And your price, I think, would be considered inhumane in most states."

It's _Pete_ , Pete standing at the top of the stairs to the back entrance of the palace, the King and Queen behind him. He has Patrick’s engagement ring in one hand and Patrick’s letter in the other and he looks _furious_.

Patrick wants to cry, would cry if Shane weren’t right there. As it is, Shane's face contorts in a mixture of fury and disbelief, and he whirls around and face the royal family, hand still gripping Patrick's arm tight enough to bruise.

"Your Highness, this is completely out of context," Shane tries to placate, but Pete looks unswayed. 

"What context is needed to make "I'm going to beat the shit out of you" acceptable?" Pete asks, voice dark. "That's some interesting conversations you have, if that's true. And I want to say I didn't hear you say that not only would you imprison your so-called son in a mafia-run _brothel_ , you have done it before. But unfortunately, I did hear that. And so did the King and Queen. And our guards, who are helpfully equipped to make arrests. Let go of Patrick immediately."

"Your Highness, allow me to explain-" Shane begins, but is overrun immediately.

"There is no explanation needed," the Queen snaps. "It's clear who you are. I've heard about you, you know. I naively thought it'd never happen here. It's clear now how overconfident I had been. I believe your Prince ordered you to release Patrick."

"If you know about us, then you know Patrick is a part of us," Shane says coldly, gaze flicking between the Prince and the Queen. "So if you're going to arrest me, you're going to have to arrest him."

"Actually, we don't have to do anything we don't want to do," the King finally says. "Patrick did not break the law here. Patrick demonstrated his character by attempting to sacrifice his own happiness to preserve our family. He told us the truth. And besides—it's clear he's spent enough time imprisoned by you. I will tell you for the last time—take your hands off Patrick."

Shane finally obeys, relinquishing his hold on Patrick like he's surrendering in battle. Patrick feels like he's in a dream as he watches two palace guards seize Shane immediately, handcuffing him and leading him away. He feels dazed, disbelieving—this couldn't possibly be happening!

"Patrick," Pete is suddenly there, right there, and he's cradling Patrick's face almost reverently, carefully looking at Patrick's split lip with a frown. "He hurt you, I'm so sorry. I promised I wouldn't let him."

"Pete?" Patrick manages, chest tight. "Am I dreaming?"

"No," Pete says softly. "No, it's real. It's real. You're safe. You're okay."

"Pete, I'm sorry, I'm sorry Pete," Patrick chokes out. "I'm sorry, I never wanted to hurt you—"

"And you didn't," Pete interrupts firmly. "I read your letter almost immediately. And even if I hadn't, I was able to experience one of the bravest things I've ever seen that helped clear things right up. That's an incredible brother you have there, you know. It takes a lot more courage than most people have to leave your surefire safety to come back to try and save another person."

"You _brat_ ," Patrick breathes, catching sight of wild dark hair immediately. "You _brat_ , you were supposed to stay put!"

"I don't take orders," Brendon whispers, a small grin breaking across his face. Patrick pulls him into a hug, squeezing tight and breathing deep.

"You're okay," Patrick breathes. "You're okay."

"Yeah," Brendon murmurs back, and clings tighter.

"Because of you, Patrick," Pete whispers. "He's safe because of you. You were in immediate danger but you thought of Brendon's safety first. The fact that that wasn't even the greatest display of your heart is amazing. _You_ are amazing, Patrick."

"Pete," Patrick whispers, like it's all he can say. It might be. "I love you."

"I love you too," Pete replies softly, a grin breaking out across his face. "I love you so much. It's awful but we got horribly interrupted before, you know. May I please try again?"

"Try what again?" Patrick asks, giving Brendon one last squeeze and letting him go to run to Andy.

Pete leans in and kisses him swiftly. 

"Patrick," his voice is a gentle murmur. "Patrick, will you marry me?"

"I don't know," Patrick replies, voice cracking. "Will I be able to train you the way I like?"

Pete laughs, the sound vibrating right down into Patrick's chest. He kisses him hard before pulling back to meet Patrick's eyes.

"As you wish," he says, and Patrick breathes.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me in my trash heap at smalltalktorture.tumblr.com if you're interested.....


End file.
